


educational opportunities

by remy (iamremy)



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Art, Light Bondage, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Coital Cuddling, Sexting, Teasing, by the glorious szamanita!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-26 02:42:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21366856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamremy/pseuds/remy
Summary: szamanita said:Yooo jonmund smut prompt! Jon has been sexting Tormund the whole day and Tormund has enough of it. When Jon comes home, he's gonna get some punishment (which he ends up enjoying a lot anyway)
Relationships: Tormund Giantsbane/Jon Snow
Comments: 14
Kudos: 97





	educational opportunities

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Louhetar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Louhetar/gifts).

> this took me a while to write, but i finally got around to it in the end! and guess what, sza made art for it!!! i can't stop looking at it and screaming omg she drew it exactly how i imagined it in my head ;-;
> 
> i hope you all enjoy reading it as much as we did writing/drawing it <3

_thinking about u_

_hope ur morning is going as well as mine is_

_every part of me misses u ;)_

_miss the way u touch me_

Tormund grits his teeth as the texts keep rolling in. On the surface they seem innocent, sweet even – that is, until he opens the attachments. The first picture is Jon’s half-hard cock. In the second one he’s biting his lip, sultry gaze pointed at the camera and one hand down the front of his pants. In the third one, his cock is fully erect. The fourth has to be the worst, though – he’s in a bathroom somewhere, legs spread, two fingers up his ass.

_Is this what you do when you’re at work?_ Tormund texts back.

_only when i’m bored_, replies Jon.

Tormund doesn’t bother replying to that. Instead he just locks his phone and throws it aside, clenching his teeth harder. He’s been hard since Jon sent the first text around an hour or so ago, and it’s bordering on painful now. The pictures are definitely _not_ helping.

He checks the clock. Only half an hour or so till Jon comes home. He can last till then, he thinks. He’s held out this long, another half hour should be nothing. He’d been planning on taking care of it himself, but that had been _before_ Jon had sent the last picture. Now all he wants to do is grab Jon, push him against the nearest wall, and have his way with him.

Tormund’s phone beeps from the sofa where it landed when he’d thrown in. For a moment he considers ignoring it, but the thought that Jon might have sent another picture is too much to resist. With a curse, he reaches over and grabs it, unlocking it to find – as he’d predicted – yet another text from Jon.

This one is just a picture, with no caption – Jon, back at his desk, looking almost bored as he stares into the camera. If it wasn’t for the fact that his tie is off and he looks flushed, Tormund would think there was nothing out of the ordinary here.

But he knows that expression, and he knows exactly what’s put that blush on his face. Tormund’s dick is so hard right now he’s pretty sure he could use it to hammer nails. Or Jon. Definitely Jon, if Tormund doesn’t fucking murder him first.

“Fuck,” groans Tormund. Jon is going to be the death of him, he’s sure of it. He’d been doing okay till that last picture, but that flush? Jon knows it’ll drive Tormund mad, the little shit. He only looks like that right after he’s come. He literally sat there, in the bathroom at his workplace, and jerked himself off and then decided to send Tormund the aftermath.

Can people die of blue balls? He’s not sure. He’s never really had cause to look it up, not until he’d met Jon. No one could ever look at that innocent face and guess what an unholy tease he is, and yet here they are.

Or, well, here Tormund is, Googling _can you die of blue balls_.

(No, blue balls are not lethal. That’s a relief, at least.)

The sound of the key turning in its lock has Tormund at high alert. Jon is home, _finally_.

He has every intention of grabbing Jon the moment Jon steps over the threshold, and fucking some manners into him, but halts halfway to the door when he hears voices. Jon’s not alone. Fuck.

The door opens, and he catches the tail end of Jon’s laugh. A second later, he steps in, and right on his heels is—

“Hello, Robb,” Tormund says, as pleasantly as he can considering he’s three seconds from ripping his own hair out. Belatedly he realizes he’s still hard, and sits down at once on the nearest sofa before pulling a cushion into his lap.

Jon notices, and smirks as he heads into the bedroom. His tie is loose, shirt untucked, and he looks comfortable, relaxed. Robb looks more or less the same as he sits down on the sofa across from Tormund’s, leaning back and making himself at home.

“How are you?” he greets Tormund.

“Fine,” says Tormund, and attempts a smile. Funny sight he must look now, he fumes. Strung up and tense with a cushion in his lap.

Perhaps it shows on his face; Robb’s smile fades a bit, and he says, “I’m not gonna stay long. Just came over to pick up that game Jon borrowed from me last month.”

“No, that’s all right,” Tormund says. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you want. It _is_ your brother’s home, after all.” _Please go away_, he begs internally.

Robb beams at him. “Thanks, man, that’s kind of you,” he says. “But I really won’t stay long. I promised Mum and Dad I’d have dinner with them tonight.”

Jon chooses that moment to emerge from the bedroom, dressed in sweatpants and a gray v-neck. He hands the game over to Robb, and then says, “D’you want tea, or, I dunno, a beer or something?”

“Nah, really, it’s fine,” Robb tells him, standing. “Thanks for letting me come over, Jon.”

“Any time, Robb,” Jon answers with a warm smile, following him to the door. Tormund watches, relieved as it looks like Robb is finally going to be on his way, but then, to his immense irritation, Jon leans against the doorway and asks, “Have you decided what you’re going to wear to Dad’s stupid company party next week?”

Robb snorts. “No, but I’ll let you know when I do. Maybe we can match.”

“I was thinking blue suits,” Jon says.

“Why blue?” asks Robb.

“’Cause Tywin Lannister hates any suit other than black, and he’s going to be there,” Jon explains with a grin.

“Perfect,” says Robb, grinning too.

Fuck, Tormund is going to _kill_ Jon. He lets out a frustrated sound in the back of his throat before he can stop himself, and the brothers both turn to look at him. Jon is smirking again, the little fucker, while Robb looks mildly concerned.

“Are you all right, Tormund?” he asks.

“I’m fine,” Tormund answers and tries to smile again. Jon’s smirk widens at his expression.

“Uh, okay,” Robb says after a few seconds of awkward silence. “I’ll, uh, I’ll be going now. See you tomorrow, Jon?”

“Yeah, sure,” says Jon, smirk softening into a pretty smile.

“Bye, Tormund,” Robb adds.

“Bye, princeling,” Tormund answers with a grin, deliberately using the nickname he knows will annoy Robb.

Robb just rolls his eyes fondly instead of replying, and is out of the flat in the next moment. Tormund wastes not a single second; the second the door shuts he has Jon pinned to it, both hands fisted into his shirt. “You little tease,” he growls, pressing his body to Jon’s so Jon can feel the length of his dick against his hip.

“What did I do?” Jon asks, all innocent smiles and charm.

“You know damn well what you did,” Tormund tells him, pressing further into him. Jon’s eyes widen as he feels it, and Tormund grins. “Yes, that’s right,” he murmurs, leaning in so he can nip at Jon’s bottom lip. “You know what’s coming now, don’t you?”

Jon grins, puts his arms around Tormund’s neck. “Mm, maybe I need to be reminded,” he whispers, tilting his head up to kiss Tormund.

“Oh, I’ll remind you all right,” Tormund answers against his lips. “I’ll remind you so good you won’t ever forget it.”

Jon has the audacity to smirk. “So what are you waiting for, then?”

“You little asshole,” growls Tormund, removing one hand from Jon’s shirt so he can slide it behind him and grab his ass.

Jon lets out a little sound of surprise, and his grip loosens around Tormund’s neck. Taking immediate advantage, Tormund grabs his arms and raises them above his head, pinning his wrists to the door with one hand. He looks down to see Jon’s pupils blown wide with arousal, breath coming a little heavy now, and he smirks. “Like that, little crow?”

“You know I do,” Jon says, pushing his hips forward into Tormund’s. Tormund can feel him getting hard, can hear his arousal in his breathing and see it in his flushed skin.

“Is this what you wanted?” Tormund asks him, pinning his hips to Jon’s so that he can’t move at all. “Sending me all those pictures, making me wait this long to touch you?”

“Oh, was it bothering you?” Jon asks innocently.

Instead of responding with words, Tormund kisses him, deep and filthy. He makes no effort to lower his head, so that Jon has to stand on the tips of his toes just to reach Tormund’s mouth. Good. Let the little shit put in some effort, too.

They’re both panting when they separate. Jon’s lips are ruddy and wet, kiss-swollen, and his pupils are so wide Tormund can barely see the brown of his eyes. He looks so fucking gorgeous that it takes all of Tormund’s self-restraint not to fuck him right then and there.

“I think you know the answer to that,” Tormund finally replies, and smirks at Jon’s expression. He lets his free hand fall from Jon’s side to his waistband, teasing him with feather-light touches to the skin there before finally slipping into his sweatpants. Jon, unsurprisingly, is not wearing any underwear, and his skin is warm and soft as Tormund slides his hand across it to cup his ass again.

Jon laughs a little, sounding breathless. “Yeah, I know the answer,” he says, grinning down at where Tormund’s hips are pinning his to the door. “I can _feel_ it.”

There is a moment’s pause, and then Tormund moves abruptly, manhandling Jon so that his back is to Tormund’s chest, and moving them both around. They stumble unevenly across the living-room, Tormund guiding Jon while Jon tries to take his pants off at the same time, and end up falling face-first on the nearest couch in a heap. Jon is laughing again, his hair falling into his face, and Tormund is not going to admit it right now but the sound makes him smile, too.

“Take off your shirt,” he orders, and Jon complies immediately. That leaves him completely naked, lying on his side on the couch and looking up at Tormund, who’s still completely clothed.

“What are you going to do?” he asks.

“Teach you a lesson,” Tormund tells him, “that you’re not likely to forget any time soon.” And with that, he grabs Jon’s discarded shirt and uses it to bind Jon’s wrists behind his back. Jon doesn’t struggle, body loose and compliant, and Tormund knows from the size of his pupils and the flush on his face that he is turned on as hell right now.

Still, he needs to hear it. “You want this?”

“Would I be here if I didn’t?” Jon answers, a contrary glint in his eye.

“That’s not an answer, you difficult brat,” Tormund growls.

Jon rolls his eyes. “Yes, Tormund, I want this,” he says, sounding impatient. “You going to get on with it, or not?”

Instead of answering, Tormund smirks and plants his hand flat between Jon’s shoulder blades, pushing him down on the couch. To his credit, Jon doesn’t have to be told to raise his arse into the air; he does it immediately, wriggling a little until he’s comfortable.

Tormund takes a moment to appreciate the sight in front of him, miles of pale skin, flushed from arousal, Jon’s gorgeous curls wild around his head, his arms bound with his shirt and hands resting in the small of his back, his perfect arse and long legs. Jon is beautiful, and he knows it, and never hesitates to take advantage of it where Tormund is concerned. But Tormund knows it’s all just for him, because Jon will never ever be like this with anyone else, and this is a side of him that belongs to Tormund and Tormund only.

“Pretty boy,” he breathes out. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Whatever you want to,” Jon replies, voice slightly muffled from where his cheek is pressed into the arm of the sofa. “That’s sort of the whole point, isn’t it?” To emphasize, he wriggles his arse in the air some more.

“Tease,” Tormund says, lightly hitting Jon’s arse with one hand while the other digs in between the couch cushions, searching for the lube that Jon’s hidden in there for exactly this sort of occasion, when they’re both too strung up and hard to bother running to the bedroom for it. “Where is it?” he asks when he doesn’t find it after a few seconds.

“Second and third cushions,” Jon tells him. “I think? That’s where we left it after last time, anyway.”

“Right, wait—” Tormund pushes his free hand where Jon told him, and sure enough, his fingers find the bottle of lube. “Found it. Are you comfortable?”

“Yes,” Jon tells him.

“Good.” And with that, Tormund uncaps the bottle and pours some of the lube on his free hand. It’s warm enough from being hidden in the couch cushions, but Jon still hisses a little when Tormund’s fingers touch his lower back. “What is it?” Tormund asks.

“Nothing, it’s a bit chilly, is all,” Jon answers.

“It’ll warm up,” Tormund tells him. “It’s the weather changing, innit, it’s getting colder. Should probably adjust the thermostat.”

There is a long-suffering sigh, and then Jon says, “Tor, if I wanted the weather report I’d check my phone, you know.”

“Brat,” Tormund says fondly, and pushes one finger in.

There is almost no resistance, and Tormund remembers that Jon had been fingering himself back at work, and is probably still somewhat open from it. It doesn’t take long before he’s got enough space to add a second finger, and he scissors Jon open slowly, gently probing around till he finds Jon’s prostate.

Jon gasps when Tormund touches it, hips bucking and back arching. Tormund smirks to himself and applies some more pressure, leaning over to nip at Jon’s shoulder. “Like that?” he asks.

“Yes,” Jon says breathlessly, “_yes, _Tor, _more_—”

Instead of giving him what he wants, Tormund withdraws his fingers completely. Jon whines a little at the sudden loss of sensation, and Tormund says, “Well, see, here’s the thing, Jon. Maybe if you’d been good, I’d have listened. But you know what happens to bratty little boys when they think they can be teases and get away with it?”

“What?” Jon asks after a moment, turning his head as much as he can to glare at Tormund.

“They don’t get to make demands,” Tormund tells him.

“Oh, come on,” Jon begins heatedly, but is cut off by Tormund inserting three fingers. Jon makes a choked sound as Tormund pushes them in as far as they’ll go, but takes great care not to touch his sweet spot. He teases around it, and near enough it for Jon to curse him, voice muffled into the arm of the couch, but not enough for Jon to be satisfied.

“You are the _worst_,” Jon accuses him, trying to move his arse back on Tormund’s fingers.

“Stay still,” Tormund orders him, and Jon, to his credit, stops moving immediately. “I’m the worst, little crow? What about you, you insolent little tease? What does that make you?”

“Horny,” Jon answers with a smirk.

“Let’s see if we can’t deal with that, then,” murmurs Tormund, and finally, _finally_ unbuckles his pants and pushes his underwear down enough to free his cock. It’s rock-hard and aching, flushed almost purple, and all Tormund wants is to push inside Jon _right now_, but that would be giving Jon exactly what he wants, and Tormund’s determined to make him beg for it first.

So he gets to his feet, and begins undressing at the pace of a snail. First he takes off his hoodie and takes the time to fold it, putting it aside on the coffee table. Then he does the same with his shirt. Jon watches this, an impatient expression on his face, but when Tormund takes almost a minute just to get his pants off, he speaks. “Are you fucking _kidding_ me right now?”

“Don’t want to get my clothes wrinkled,” Tormund tells him, grinning wickedly.

“As if you’ve ever cared about that before!”

“I don’t care about it even now,” Tormund tells Jon, folding his jeans. “But you need a taste of your own medicine, little crow.”

“I don’t like it,” Jon mutters, sullen.

“No one does,” Tormund replies with a snort. Then, finally, his underwear comes off, and he takes up his position behind Jon again.

Jon does nothing to disguise the relief on his face. “Thank the gods,” he snarks. “I was beginning to think I’d have to wait till next year.”

“You little shit,” Tormund growls, and then pushes into Jon in one smooth stroke.

Jon moans, head dropping between his shoulders, and Tormund gives him a moment to adjust. He stays still, one arm braced against the back of the couch so that he’s not putting all his body weight on Jon, and waits until Jon pushes back slightly and says, “Okay, you can move. Right now,” he adds cheekily.

Tormund does so, withdrawing almost completely before slamming into Jon again, eliciting a shout from him. It doesn’t take long for them to fall back into a comfortable rhythm, Jon pushing back to meet every single of Tormund’s thrusts until they’re both moving in sync. Jon’s body is tight and hot underneath Tormund’s, his skin warm under Tormund’s hand, and the little sounds he’s making as Tormund pounds into him are just _delicious_.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” he growls, leaning forward so he can press a kiss to the back of Jon’s neck.

“Yes,” Jon manages to say, fingers clenching and unclenching against his back. “Yes, Tor, _yes_—”

“There are easier ways to ask,” Tormund tells him, tangling his hand into Jon’s curls.

“But then where’s the fun in that?” Jon asks, and then gasps as Tormund hits his prostate at just the right angle. “Yes, _yes_, do that again—”

Tormund complies, moving back on his knees again so that he has more space to move. He doesn’t let go of Jon’s hair, though, and as a result of his change in position Jon’s head is pulled back a little, enough to add an edge but not enough to hurt him.

“This okay?” Tormund asks between thrusts.

Jon nods, causing his hair to be pulled even more. It must feel good to him; he moans louder than he was before, letting Tormund tug at his hair until his face is no longer pressed against the couch. As a result, there is nothing to muffle his moaning, much to Tormund’s satisfaction.

He drives harder into Jon’s body, satisfaction rushing through his body with every sound Jon makes. His little crow lets out a wild, feral sound when Tormund hits his prostate again, and it makes something primal and possessive curl inside Tormund too. He did this, he’s the one making Jon – shy, reserved Jon – lose control like this, and the thought almost drives him right over the edge.

They’re both so into it that it takes them a few moments to realize that someone is banging on the wall that divides their flat from their neighbor’s. “OI!” shouts whoever is on the other side. “KEEP IT DOWN, YOU HORNY MOTHERFUCKERS!”

Jon laughs breathlessly, red in the face, and Tormund grins too, before it occurs to him that this could be another… _educational_ opportunity for Jon. Grabbing Jon’s hips with both hands, Tormund pounds into him even more enthusiastically than before, drawing more moaning and shouting from him. Jon is not holding back at all now, letting every curse, every sound fall unrestrained from that pretty, pretty mouth of his.

“OI!” roars their neighbor again.

“You heard the fucker,” Tormund says, taking one hand off Jon’s waist so he can place it over Jon’s mouth, muffling him. “Keep it down, little crow. Wouldn’t want a noise complaint lodged against us by some cunt with a stick up his arse, would we?”

Jon moans again, the sound pressing warm into Tormund’s hand.

“Good boy,” Tormund says with approval, and keeps his hand there as he fucks into Jon. He’s close now, so close, and he knows Jon is too, and so he reaches around to wrap his other hand around Jon’s length, stroking upwards from the base and lightly moving his thumb over the head – and this is what finally drives Jon over the edge. His knees buckle, entire body clenching around Tormund as he comes with a shout that’s impressively loud even in spite of Tormund’s hand on his mouth. The sudden increase in sensation and friction around his cock is more than enough for Tormund, and after a few erratic thrusts he comes too, burying his face into the back of Jon’s neck as he empties himself inside him.

They both collapse gracelessly on the couch when they’re done, breathing hard. There are light tremors coursing through Jon’s body from how powerful his orgasm must’ve been, and Tormund wraps his arms around him from behind, moving them both until they’re spooning on the couch, pressed tightly into the limited space.

“All right?” he asks softly, sliding out of Jon slowly and pushing his hands into the space between them so he can untie Jon’s hands.

“Mm,” Jon hums, letting Tormund move his arms to his sides and massage the feeling back into them. “Better than all right.”

“Good,” says Tormund, using the shirt to clean them both up a little before tossing it aside.

“Might need some more lessons in the future,” Jon mumbles, his eyes falling closed as he makes himself comfortable in Tormund’s arms.

“You’ll be the death of me, you know that?” Tormund tells him with a fond groan, and presses a kiss just behind his ear.

“Yeah, but you love it,” Jon answers with a tired grin.

“That I do, little crow,” Tormund murmurs. “That I do.”

**Author's Note:**

> feedback is extremely appreciated! and don't forget to tell sza how amazing her art is!
> 
> love,  
remy


End file.
